


Sherlock The Giant Killer

by Sandboy28



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Other, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2216514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandboy28/pseuds/Sandboy28
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John finally bag The Golem</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock The Giant Killer

Sherlock The Giant Killer

It had been a week of danger for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. A string of murders with a very familiar MO has occurred in London and Lestrade was at wits end (as he usually was when calling in the pair) So far, the perpetrator had eluded them at every turn and the stress was getting to John. The one thing they knew for sure was that The Golem was back to his old tricks.  
Oscar Dzundza, aka The Golem stood 7’4” tall and was thin and wiry. His bald head and scowling eyes made for a terrifying character. His technique was unique: slip up behind his prey and fold one enormous hand over their nose and mouth and suffocate them to death. Sherlock and John had encountered him once before with disastrous results. John was not pleased with having to deal with this menace again.  
“It’s been a week now and we’re no closer to catching him than we were. What do you propose we do with him when we do?” John speared Sherlock with a troubled gaze as they sat drinking tea at 221b. Sherlock had been sitting in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his long face, seemingly lost in thought. “The last time we tried to bring him in I ended up hanging off his back and you getting tossed like a rag doll. Imagine if we really pissed him off!” The strain was telling in John’s voice.  
Sherlock though for a moment longer and lowered his hands, training hawkish azure eyes on John. “We can’t. The best we can hope to do is to kill him.” Sherlock’s expression was completely serious. He stood quickly, unfolding his lean frame to its six foot height and strode to the livingroom window. Peering out through the curtains he turned to John. “John I need you to do something for me.” John sat forward, listening carefully. “I need your gun.”  
The few times Sherlock had used John’s gun had been when he had purloined it from John’s drawer. Since then, he had learned to lock it, not that Sherlock wouldn’t simply pick the lock and nab it anyway. He was pleasantly surprised that Sherlock had politely asked. “Well, I suppose but why not just let me use it. I’m the one with the military training.” He answered amiably.  
Sherlock’s dark brows knit and he licked his lips, carefully measuring what he would say. “Normally I would agree but in this case I need to carry this out alone.” He tensed slightly, waiting for the fireworks he knew would come. John’s expression was quizzical.  
“Alone? Why alone. I don’t understand.”  
Sherlock hesitated momentarily and replied to John in as serious a tone as he ever had. “John I intend to kill Dzundsa and I don’t want you to be involved.” He raised a hand at John who had begun to stand and speak. “I realize that you’re not happy about this but I’ve given this a lot of thought and I’m sure it’s the right call.” He continued to gaze at John expectantly.  
John rose and crossed the room to his friend. “Sherlock, we are partners.” He gave emphasis to the last word. “With everything i…we’ve been through don’t you trust me by now?” he stared up at Sherlock intent upon making his point. Sherlock sighed, rolled his eyes and gave John the look.  
“John, of course I realize you can handle yourself…”  
“I can also handle you.” John interjected.  
“…and while you may feel that you need to protect me…”  
“PROTECT YOU?” John suddenly shouted. “Is that what you think I’m doing?” His face was a taut mask. Sherlock squirmed slightly under the “Captain Watson” look. “Sherlock don’t you realize I have as much invested in catching this monster as you do?” His voice was tight with pique.  
Sherlock’s mouth opened and closed twice as he tried to reply to this sudden, furious outburst. “John, I…” before he could continue John was all over the room, pacing and gesturing angrily.  
“I’ve said it again and again, Sherlock: we’re PARTNERS!” He suddenly stopped pacing and turned his eyes on Sherlock whose shoulders had slumped in resignation.  
“Very well then.” He replied somewhat softly. “If you must.” John’s shoulders relaxed immediately, having won the argument for once.  
“Right. So we’re agreed then?” John said, spearing Sherlock with a gimlet eye. Sherlock nodded and held his long arms up in acquiescence. John smiled, going for his jacket and pistol. Sherlock, miffed at having been bested by John donned his trademark mack and hastily did up his scarf.  
On the way down stairs, Mrs. Hudson predictably cornered them, her eyes frowning with worry. “You two aren’t really going out there are you? With that maniac about?” Sherlock, uncharacteristically touched by her concern, leaned down and cradled her wizened face in both hands and kissed her tenderly in the forehead.  
“Just popping down to the chippy.” He smiled broadly. “We’ll be right back.” Mrs. Hudson, overcome with love for this manic, impulsive young man suddenly pulled him into a tight hug and kissed his cheek. The boys left a very relieved Land lady behind to meet their destiny. 

Working on a tip from the homeless network, Sherlock and John found themselves in the dooryard of a dilapidated, old three-storey house in the middle of nowhere, north of London. John was first to comment:  
“We really should call Lestrade for backup.” He stage whispered.  
“Backup?” Sherlock snorted derisively. “We don’t need backup John. We have a gun.”  
“One, small, hand gun Sherlock. Shall I remind you of how big Dzundsa is? What if he’s not alone?” John’s tone was getting frantic.  
Sherlock whirled around to face him. “GUN John. Even the Golem is not immune to bullets.” He motioned for John to follow, shushing him with one long, gloved finger. They trod up the few stairs to the entrance and hesitated whilst Sherlock put his ear to the door. Nothing. Carefully, he pushed the door and turned the knob. It came open easily. john winced at the small creak the door made. He motioned frantically for Sherlock to be careful. Sherlock’s mouth turned up at the edges in a wry smirk and stepped inside.  
Apart from the sliver of moonlight angling through the bay window it was pitch black inside. The smell was dank and musty and it was ice cold, the two men’s breath paying out before them in whisps. Sherlock motioned toward a staircase and a very nervous John followed, pulling his Army revolver out to be used at a split second’s notice. Slowly, they mounted the steps and motioned for John who was almost on top of him, his heart trip-hammering in his chest loudly enough for him to hear.  
Halfway up Sherlock stopped, swiveling his head, catlike to listen. John was motionless and tense, breathing in snatches. After ten seconds of silence Sherlock resumed his ascent. Both men began to notice an odor at the top of the stairs. It was a lowly, nasty odor. Not quite like shit but something biological. Body odor. John felt his eyes bulge as Sherlock suddenly stoped at the top of the landing and shouted: “Dzundsa! I can smell you up here. Show yourself!”  
Sherlock’s sudden outburst had galvanized John. His head throbbed as Adrenaline whipped through his nervous system unbidden. He prayed silently that Sherlock was wrong as he gripped the gun fiercely. Sherlock glanced back at him and winked reassuringly. John felt his chest loosen slightly. Then all hell broke loose.  
A huge hand snaked out with lightening speed from around the door frame just to their right. It clamped onto Sherlock’s shoulder and yanked the young detective through the door like a rag doll. Sherlock made an explosive breath sound as though he’d had the wind knocked from him. John’s blood turned to ice and he suddenly shifted into ‘John Watson the soldier’ mode. He darted to the doorway, pistol drawn just in time to see his friend being held in mid air by the scruff of his neck by the giant. He wad both hands on Dzundsa’s struggling to free himself as his slender legs pin wheeled uselessly. Dzundsa’s expression was madly gleeful.  
“Drop him, Dzundsa or I’ll kill you!” John shouted, focusing his aim on that huge, bald head. “I mean it! Put him down!’ Dzundsa grinned with a mouthful of crooked fang-like teeth and lowered his prey to the floor, not releasing him. Sherlock struggled fiercely, even leveling a kick at the giant man’s shins. This only pissed Dzundsa off and earned him a painful slap across the cheek. The slap was like a gunshot, echoing through the empty room. Sherlock sagged, having been nearly knocked out by it. John pointed the gun at Dzundsa’s face.  
“Let him go you bastard or I will kill you.” He said evenly and with deadly intent.  
Shockingly, the giant spoke: “I will kill him before the bullet reaches me. You had better have more bullets, little one. Or I will kill you as well.”  
John’s throat tightened as he tried to think his way through this. Sherlock, who has begun to come to his senses shouted to John: “Run John! Get out and phone Lestrade!” This earned him a shake from Dzundsa who apparently intended for both men to stay. Sherlock grimaced and ceased his struggles. Dzundsa reached down and lifted Sherlock easily as a rag doll from the floor and pulled him to a chair, forcing him to sit down. He pointed a horny finger in the young man’s face and bade him stay put. Sherlock nodded sullenly and obeyed.  
“Why do you two follow me?” Dzundsa queried to John. The question took John aback. He actually grinned sardonically.  
“Are you serious? We’re following you to bring you in for murders you’ve committed.” The giant threw his head back and howled with baritone laughter.  
“You two thought you’d come here and capture me, eh?” Dzundsa scoffed, walking back to Sherlock who was still recovering from being knocked insensible. Dzundsa reached down to his face, making Sherlock flinch violently. The giant grasped the young detective’s chin and used his huge thumb to wipe the small trickle of blood from Sherlock’s mouth. He followed this amazing act with a gentle pat to his face. Sherlock looked up at him in puzzled amazement. Dzundsa walked over to a desk and sat himself down.  
“You want to kill me John Watson?” Dzundsa asked frankly, a weary note in his voice.  
“N…not if I don’t have to.” John replied hesitantly. “I don’t want to kill anyone.” Sherlock stirred, finally recovering from the blow and weighed in;  
“I would like to kill you, thank you.” The comment, nakedly hostile and so very Sherlock brought out a hearty laugh from the Giant. “I mean to do so this evening. And I will.” John flinched at the statement, looking at Sherlock as if to say; ‘Not good.’ Dzundsa merely turned to him and smiled.  
“You two are a pain in my neck.” Dzundsa suddenly said. “I will not go anywhere with you. So kill me if you must or go away. I am in my own hell without you two annoying little scamps.”  
Sherlock’s eyes had been acclimating themselves to the lower lighting. When Dzundsa had reached fow him he had noticed a tattoo on the giant’s arm. It read Дідусь, or grandpa in Ukrainian. Sherlock observed that Dzundsa grunted every time he moved, indicating arthritis. This was born out with the man’s gnarled knuckles. He was in chronic pain. Sherlock surmised that he had a number of weaknesses. He decided to play on them.  
“Come on, Dzundsa.” The young detective taunted. “Just give up and come with us. You’re at the end of your tether.” John grimaced and silently preyed that Sherlock knew what he was doing. Sherlock suddenly knew that the giant would never kill them. “Come on you old bastard. You can barely move.”  
“Sherlock…” John began to caution him when Dzundsa suddenly rose from his seated position and moved with surprising speed and grace toward Sherlock. Sherlock flinched and braced himself for another backhand blow but was instead grasped by both upper arms and lifted into the air. Dzundsa spun his slender frame and sat down on the desk, placing the young man face down over his lap. John tensed but waited as Sherlock began to struggle anew, having deduced his fate.  
Dzundsa pulled Sherlock’s mack up and exposed his hindquarters. Sherlock shouted and protested as the tail of his blazer was moved out of the way. A huge paw held him down by the small of his back and another began to administer a blistering spanking to the young man’s backside. Shocked, Sherlock howled in protest.  
“Let me GO! I….I’m a grown man damnit!...OUCH! Ow! STOP!” The shouting quickly turned to pleading as Sherlock’s narrow hips bucked under the onslaught. he felt tears spring to his eyes and his hands went back to try and protect his flaming bottom. “CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!” the spanking continued until Sherlock ceased struggling and lay over the giant’s lap, sobbing helplessly. His bottom was aflame. John, frozen in place released a sigh of relief when the giant picked Sherlock up and stood him on his feet before him. Sherlock rubbed his bottom furiously, glaring at Dzundsa who only smiled and stroked his curly mop of hair.  
‘Now, young man. Stop this angry behaviour.” He wagged a finger at Sherlock whose chin had dropped in shame. Sherlock peered up at the giant, keeping his tongue in his head. “Good boy.” Dzundsa spun him round and gave him a gentle pat on the backside, propelling him in John’s direction. “Do you need a spanking too, little fellow?” Dzundsa asked a shocked John.  
“Wha…na…NO!” John replied indignantly. Sherlock stood at his elbow now, sniffling and silent. John felt very alone and insecure. What the hell could he do now? before he could answer that question he felt the pistol being snatched from his hand. Sherlock, who had snapped to rather suddenly aimed at Dzundsa and emptied the revolver into the enormous head. Dzundsa gasped and hit the floor like a felled tree.  
John whirled to see a smug Sherlock, emptying the spent shells from the pistol and smiling at John. “Come now John. Did you really buy my little act?” The detective smirked. John exhaled sharply and shook his head in utter amazement.  
“It was an act to get Dzundsa off his guard.” John said with sudden and deep admiration for his clever friend. A distant siren confirmed what he had already surmised. Sherlock had called Lestrade. Clever monkey! He followed Sherlock down the stairs and into the dooryard as headlights approached. “Are you alright then?” He asked, pointing to Sherlock’s backside.  
Sherlock lowered his gaze and smiled. “I’ll be fine, John.” He reached back and gave his bum another careful rub, wincing. “I just need a good night’s sleep.”  
“And a dose of Arnica cream for that blistered bum.” John said as the cavalry arrived. Sherlock didn’t argue the point.


End file.
